Through the Bars

The musty air

in my concrete tent

is washed away

by a clean new scent

that comes with day.

Virgin breezes,

untainted by hay

swirl in the sun,

just outside my

Prison bars.

I wonder:

was it worth it,

what I did,

to end up here

where life to go

truly fears?

Prison is mad,

and so am I.

Away I wish

I coud fly-

the clouds would

comfort me more

than these dirty rods.

So I stare

through the bars.

The End

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